


As You Mean To Continue

by cjmarlowe



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, First Time, M/M, Office Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cjmarlowe/pseuds/cjmarlowe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been a long day and Chandler had already scrubbed down and changed his clothes twice and he was just feeling frayed, but Kent still stood there patiently, giving Chandler the chance to think it through and make up his own mind about this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As You Mean To Continue

"I've emptied all the bins, sir," said Kent, "and straightened Mansell's things again." If by 'straightened' one counted chucking a good half in the bin and shoving the rest in his drawer where he could sort them out for himself later.

"You didn't need to—"

"I did, though," said Kent. "Even Miles was starting to give it a wider berth."

"I've still got—"

"You haven't got anything that can't wait for tomorrow," said Kent. "You could join us for a drink. You had a good time the last time."

"We're the only two left here."

"You could join _me_ for a drink."

"I could," agreed Chandler. 

Kent was right; it wouldn't have been the first time. But it had been a long day and Chandler had already scrubbed down and changed his clothes twice and he was just feeling frayed. Kent just stood there patiently, though, hands folded behind his back, eyes steady. Giving Chandler the chance to make up his own mind about it, no rushing him and no pushing him. He had made his offer clear and sincere, had done everything properly, right down to the invitation. The ball was in Chandler's court now.

"I really should..." And Chandler started tidying the things on his desk, moving the row of writing utensils all one inch to the left.

"All right," said Kent, but instead of leaving he closed the office door. The lights in the incident room were already out for the night, everyone sensible not even in the pub but already gone home to their families. "We can stay."

"We can?"

"You do what you need to do," said Kent, "and I'll do what you need me to do."

"But you said you already—"

"I'm not talking about that," said Kent, as Chandler straightened the papers on his right, already perfectly aligned at the corners. "I won't make any fuss at all, but you'll have to tell me what you like. I can only guess so much."

"I don't know what—" he started, but when Kent dropped to his knees next to him and pushed his chair back so he could get in between his legs, Chandler got the picture very quickly. He wasn't sure he believed what he was seeing, but he definitely knew what it was.

"You can tell me if I've crossed a line, sir, but I don't think I have," said Kent, unfastening Chandler's trousers.

"I don't know what you think you—"

"It's very tidy," said Kent, like that was the most important thing, like he understood that that genuinely mattered, "and we're alone here."

"But you and I aren't—"

"Aren't we?" said Kent. "I know we've never said it, but...aren't we, really?"

It could be argued, and not just by lawyers but by anyone with eyes and ears and common sense, that they were. That the drinks they'd had together had in fact been dates. That the time they'd spent getting to know one another was in fact flirting. It could be argued very successfully that Chandler and Kent had been seeing one another for weeks now, for a certain definition of seeing.

One to which Kent clearly subscribed.

"You haven't got to do anything," Kent went on, when Chandler had nothing at all to say. "I want to do this."

"For me?"

"For us," says Kent. "It's not a favour. I want to do this. I'm pretty sure you want to do this too."

He did. It was not _sensible_ and it certainly wasn't as tidy as Kent seemed to think it would be. But he didn't need it to be. He did not need everything in his world to be perfect. He had a lot of experience coping.

But it turned him on that Kent was making it as perfect as he could, that he _understood_. When the time came when he _did_ need it, when he couldn't do this, when he had to employ every coping technique that he could just to get through the day, he felt like Kent would get it then, too.

"Okay?"

Chandler nodded his head and closed his eyes and could feel every movement of the fabric of his clothing as Kent peeled it open. He felt the wisp of his fingertips on bare skin, the heat of his breath, then the touch of his mouth, so gentle that Chandler actually jerked in his chair.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he started to say, and was a breath away from calling the whole thing off when Kent grabbed his hips and held him down in his chair and put his mouth on him again, harder. And Chandler, in that moment, gave up that piece of control to Kent and trusted him to take very good care of it.

His mouth was hotter than his breath had been, wet and _strong_. Strong wasn't a word that Chandler thought he'd be using, but his mouth is as strong as his hands that are holding Chandler down, his tongue curling around Chandler's cock and forming to it perfectly.

Chandler had never been a quick trigger, though he did not have a wealth of experience to base that on. It was too hard to let go of that kind of control with anyone, even people he trusted. Even _himself_. Maybe especially himself. Whatever the reason, it was probably his greatest skill in bed—the ability to last.

That Kent had got him this hard, this quickly, in an environment that Chandler in no way deemed 'safe for sexual congress' said a lot about...something. He wasn't sure what words to put to it yet, because he didn't even know what they were yet.

He opened his eyes and saw that Kent's were closed, that his mouth was sinking deeper onto Chandler's cock, just letting it slide into his throat now, and he was feeling it and seeing it at the same time and that set off a whole new kind of sparks in his head, and other places. Instead of any kind of normal sense processing (you see an orange and feel an orange _and_ smell an orange, but it's still just one orange) both seeing and feeling this was like double the pleasure. He didn't close his eyes again, even when Kent blindly started searching with one hand again, sliding it deeper into Chandler's trousers, inside his pants, cupping his balls and pressing at the spot right behind them.

Though it wasn't his first time, Chandler had not been with a lot of men. He couldn't even fairly say he'd been with a _few_ men, just a non-zero number. And with those few men, he had never wished that any of them would fuck him, not until now, in this moment, when it skimmed through his brain that he and Kent could do that. Then the thought turned around and slammed back in again. _He and Kent could do that. He wanted to do that._.

Just maybe not here and now. Still, thinking about it pushed him well on his way up the chain, which was probably nice for Kent because he was young and enthusiastic and apparently experienced but no one had unlimited stamina.

"You don't have to..." he started, because it was clear that Kent intended to swallow. "I have tissues."

But Kent waved him off and sucked harder, swirling his tongue against Chandler's cock where he could, and finally Chandler closed his eyes again and shut out any stimuli but the feel and sound of Kent sucking him off at his desk. His trembling was very contained, and he grew very quiet (which he often did, and he hoped Kent did not take it as a bad sign since he hadn't had any other opportunity to recognise it as a baseline), and when he came it was in a wave, rising steadily and then crashing over, leaving a slurry of sensation in its wake.

He could feel Kent swallowing, smoothly and without any fuss, and got quick control of his breathing again as Kent slowly moved off his body, reached for tissue and used it to clean up anything that remained, which mostly consisted of the base of his cock and the corners of his mouth.

"See?" he said, only after he tossed the tissue in the bin and zipped Chandler's trousers again. "No mess."

"I can handle a little mess."

"Not at your desk, though," says Kent. "Not here. Not where you're not equipped to deal with it."

"You underestimate my stash of cleaning supplies."

"No, I don't," said Kent, and smiled at him and in that moment looked so _sweet_ that it was hard to believe he'd just done what he'd just done. Then he darted his tongue out to clean the corner of his mouth one more time and Chandler believed every moment of it. "So how about that drink?"

"What, now?"

"Why not?" said Kent. "Work's done and you're a lot less tense than you were. Do you have somewhere else to be?"

"I don't want to feel like you've... _serviced_ me," he said after a moment. "That's no beginning."

"Anything can be a beginning," said Kent. "It's not a blueprint for what comes after."

"I always say that you should begin as you intend to continue."

"Well, that's one place I think you're going to have to meet me in the middle," said Kent. "Some things just refuse to be neat and simple."

"Like murder."

"And relationships."

"I think I'll skip that drink then."

"Oh," said Kent. "Well...all right."

"And take you back to mine," said Chandler. "I'm sure I've got a nice bottle of Merlot as good as anything we'd get at the pub." He could actually _see_ Kent brighten at that, as if a light had come back into his face. "I may not be able to make it neat and simple, but I can certainly make it...reciprocal."

"Begin the way you mean to continue?"

"Indeed," said Chandler, and stood up and gathered his things and was even more pleased now that everything else was already done so all there was left was to lead Kent out of the building and into a beautiful beginning.


End file.
